


First Impression

by DaisyIfYouHave



Series: Post-WM Overwatch Universe [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Double date!, F/F, Gen, Meeting the fam sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-21 03:32:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11348985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyIfYouHave/pseuds/DaisyIfYouHave
Summary: Emily knew she'd have to meet Lena's people someday, and she never quite feels like she fits.





	First Impression

Mercy sat in front of the mirror in their bedroom, trying to arrange her wayward and uncooperative hair. No matter where she put it, it always seemed to be sticking out, somehow, as if exploding from her head like a thousand tiny ideas. She sighed. It wasn’t as if Tracer or Emily would be paying attention to her anyhow. They were caught in that beautiful first flush of love, where everything your partner does is fascinating and beautiful and perfect, and you hang on their words and the tilt of their chin and the wave of their eyelashes.

She heard Pharah spit her toothpaste in the bathroom, somewhat less fascinating but somehow much more loved than their early years together.  She emerged, her deep cologne wafting into the bedroom.

“Do not be teasing Lena too much tonight, schatzi.” Mercy looked over at Pharah with gentle chiding “They are new together, you know.”

“I do not know what you are talking about,” Pharah adjusted her tie in the mirror, “I am never anything but fair to Tracer.” She grinned at Mercy. “It is not any fault of mine that she deserves correction.”

Mercy smiled. “Fareeha.”

“No one is more delighted than me that she is seeing someone who is not actively trying to kill us. Or her. Although,” She leaned in and kissed Mercy on the temple, ‘She has not known Tracer very long, so we may want to give it time.”

“Is that out of your system? Lena will be treating us, you know.” Mercy tried to seem stern. It never worked very well, where Pharah was involved.  

Pharah looked insulted. “No, she is not.”

Mercy stood up, arranging the last bit of her flyaway hair. “She told me she would be doing it, though.”

“When do you think I listen to what Tracer says?” She nodded decisively. “We will be paying.”

“Oh, Fareeha.”

___

Purple was a good color on her. Tracer had told her often. She looked at herself in the mirror. No, the green wrap was too much with the purple dress. She looked like the bastard lovechild of Ivy and the Joker. She set it to the side and sighed heavily.

Tracer popped behind her in the mirror, just as she popped everywhere, tying the light green tie with tiny print around her neck. “Let meself in. Running a bit late, and I’m sorry love, there was something on the telly that reminded me I’d meant to pull the prawns out of the freezer for dinner tomorrow, and then I ‘ad to write down that I needed some rice, and then–”

“Not cross with you, Lena.” She tried to tease a curl into the bottom of her hair.

Tracer’s expression changed from one of excitement to one of concern as she sat at the edge of Emily’s bed.. “You sure, love?” She looked down at her own outfit, touching the lapel of her jacket. “Don’t like it?”

Emily continued to look in the mirror. “What if they don’t like me?”

“I  think the only thing Pharah and I ‘ave both ever liked is not being killed,” Tracer drew her ankle over her knee, displaying the hot pink socks under her trousers, “and she’d argue with me on that point.”

“You’re not aiding in me bravery, Lena.”

“And, “ Tracer popped to her feet, “Fareeha liking or ‘ating something ‘as never changed me mind on it.” She kissed Emily’s hand. “Besides, I’d say you’re near as universally likeable as not being dead.”

“Flatterer, you are.” She stroked Tracer’s cheek lovingly, and then looked again at her tie, “Those are tacos on your tie, aren’t they now?”

“Fish tacos!” She grinned. “Its me lesbian tie. Knew you’d love it.”

“Oh, Lena.”

___

“My name is Fareeha.”

Emily envied Tracer’s ease in all social situations, but particularly in this one. When Tracer had met her friends, she was charming and funny and popped like a champagne cork with energy, drawing everyone to her. Her friends, whose previous commentary on Tracer had been ‘she’s a bit short, a bit odd, and what is that thing on her chest, again?’ instantly fell in love with her.

That was Tracer’s magic, and though Emily was not so down on herself that she could not say she did not possess any magic of her own, it was of a quieter sort, and harder to see, and less useful, she thought.

She simply stammered and tucked her hair behind her ear as Pharah extended her hand with a wide smile, her other arm around Mercy, which, Emily noted, ended in sleek metal, a burnished gold ring .

“Emily.” She finally managed. “I’m Emily.” She clasped Pharah’s hand, more warm and responsive than she’d expected.

Mercy gave a bright smile and stepped forward, her pink dress brushing against the blue of Pharah’s jacket, matched perfectly in their unmatched way.

“Lena has been telling us so much about you.” She extended her hand toward Emily, smiling, “It is so nice to meet you.”

Pharah leaned forward, smiling. “Her name is Angela.”

“Oh!” Mercy laughed brightly, “Yes, I’m Angela.”

They were what someone might call a handsome couple, in that polished way, with none of Tracer’s ebullient and wild energy, and none of Emily’s shy gawkiness. She took herself back at the thought, for a moment–Tracer never liked when she described herself as awkward, no matter how much she felt it. She always thought Emily was beautiful and graceful, and encouraged Emily to think it of herself. And so she would try.

They were a handsome couple, that was still true, and Pharah led Mercy by the arm with a fluid grace, but Emily found a smile for the reflection in the window of the couple next to them, too, a tiny bouncy little butch who gazed up at her girlfriend with all the love in the world.

The restaurant Tracer had selected was a nice one, with white cotton tablecloths and dark wood accents on the walls. You could accuse her of many things, but she did know where to go for a date, and prided herself on such. They had gone here, once, it must have been the third or fourth date, a little fish restaurant down a side street where they had split a bottle of wine and Emily had been entranced by the way the light from the candles danced in Tracer’s eyes.

She only wished she could stay in that moment, now.

Emily was always conscious, perhaps too conscious, of how she acted when she met new people, and she poked through the menu nervously as Pharah tried to engage her in conversation. She had such bearing, everything she said seemed to hold such weight and gravity, and Emily found her immediately intimidating, in spite of the fact that neither Mercy nor Tracer seemed the slightest bit impressed by her.

“So,” Pharah studied the back of the menu, “What is it you do, for a living, Emily?”

“I’m a teacher, for reception year.” Emily nodded nervously.

“Reception year? That is, I think, four years old? Five?”

“Aye, that’d be the range of it.” She wanted to elaborate, wanted to tell Pharah how she adored her job, how wonderful it was to see the children grow and change over the year, how far they came, and how loving they were. But it all seemed too nerve-wracking, to put the things she truly loved out there, unknowing. And besides, their jobs were so important, taking care of the world, saving people and keeping London safe, her place in the world was so small and insignificant compared to theirs.

Pharah grinned and inclined her head toward Tracer. “It is easy to see why you take to Tracer.”

“I agree,” Tracer smirked, “Explains why Ang loves sitting in the lab with amoebas so much.”

Mercy looked over at Emily as if she were letting her in on a secret. “It’s difficult to believe, I realize, but Fareeha does often have feelings about Lena that do not revolve around murder.”

Pharah nodded. “Sometimes just maiming.”

Emily laughed nervously. Of course Pharah loved Tracer, everyone did.

Mercy touched her arm. “Everything’s fine.”

Emily would not have guessed that a woman who spent so much of her time behind a laboratory door would have noticed her unease, but then again, it seemed like every aspect for Tracer’s life and the people in it were surprising.

It was easy for Emily to see why Tracer liked them.

Later, Emily would have no idea what she’d ordered, or how it had tasted. (Though she had been sure Tracer ordered oysters, as she could rarely ever help herself when they were on the menu) But she did remember Pharah ordering the table a bottle of champagne, smiling confidently and toasting to her and Tracer’s relationship, ending on a crack about Emily’s bad taste in women, and Tracer’s spot of good luck.

She had always worried about her own family, and how they would like Tracer. For as accepting as they could be, they had found fault with every girl she had brought home since she was in high school, and she wasn’t sure she could avoid that, even as she had found a legitimate, world-saving hero who loved her and treated her well. At the very least, though, her parents were consistent.

Of all the things Emily worried about, and they were many, she never worried that Tracer would stop trying, with everyone she knew, or that she would stop trying to make Emily feel at home in her world.

And in some ways,that made her feel braver, to have Tracer at her side. To know that she would never give up. She just wasn’t built for it.

“When we was in Gibraltar, Ang, you remember, those damn barracks?” Tracer laughed, “And Ana, she put me on the bunk with the sloping roof,” she could barely tell her story for cackling, “took me months before she’d decided I was slightly more useful than a pen light, it did.”

Angela took a sip of the champagne. “And still you stayed on the bunk with the sloped roof over it.”

“Well then it was rather cozy-like, wasn’t it? Once you get used to it.”

Emily leaned forward excitedly. “I remember Ana Amari, from the Omnic Crisis, aye, but she was a soldier, wasn’t she?”

Pharah leaned back in her chair, “She was very good at that, yes,” it came out more teasingly than usual, a softness supplied by champagne, “If nothing else.”

Angela touched her arm. “I am delighted with the product of all of her work,” she giggled, a bit drunkenly.

Tracer leaned over toward Emily. “Ana’s Fareeha’s mum.”

Emily shook her head. “‘Course she is, I didn’t even think on it, you being the leader now, as it is.”

She felt Tracer bristle next to her, and Emily’s face grew hot.

“Please,” Pharah raised her hand, “I am a good cover story, but–”

Angela laid her head on Pharah’s shoulder and kissed her neck. “She’s the pretty face of Overwatch.”

Pharah kissed her forehead. “It takes all of us. Tracer is as much leader as I am. And she,” she looked at Tracer directly, who was fiddling with her knife and looking off to the side,and called her back to the conversation, “Tracer,”  Tracer looked up at her “ she is invaluable.”

“Lena, I’m so–”

Tracer took her hand. “S all right, everyone thinks she’s leader cause she puffs ‘erself up with that big suit.” She grinned back at Pharah. “Casts a wide shadow, that. Surprised they didn’t take Rein for leader, since you got the idea from ‘im.”

“You mean I wear armor into battle instead of leggings? You should try it.”

“I’ll ‘ave you know, that they are a tactical garm–” She leaned forward and pointed at Pharah, her grey mood replaced by the familiar banter. Emily loved that about her, how in a flash, it could all be gone, and leave only the sun of her smile.

“They are bright orange and made of spandex.”

“TACTICAL, and it’s lycra, love, this is London.”

“The day you learn what pants are when we are in Canada, we will talk.”

“Alright, just because I minorly misunderstood the dress code, one time…”

And then Emily laughed right along with them, and there was a warmth inside of her that felt nothing like shame, but something like love.


End file.
